


Really, men and elves aren't that different, are they?

by FlareWarrior



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Pretty things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlareWarrior/pseuds/FlareWarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bard is (relatively) certain he's being bullied, and Thranduil would very much like a courting manual for Men.<br/><a href="https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11075560/1/">Link to French translation by Kaara1</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Really, men and elves aren't that different, are they?

It started with a few offhand comments about his bowmanship. They gave Bard pause because they were, well, not exactly complimentary, but not insults either: ' _Your archery skills nearly reach those of my foot soldiers,_ ' for example. He supposed they might be as close to insults as a proper elf king might let himself get, though Thranduil was usually much better at letting people know they were out of his favor. He shrugged them off as elven superiority rearing its head and did his best to ignore them when they came.

This was, apparently, the wrong move, as Thranduil quickly graduated from vaguely insulting comments to straight-up harassment whenever Bard had a bow in his hands. _'Move your hand this way' 'your bow is inferior' 'are those_ dwarvish _arrows_?' (the last said as if it was some kind of personal insult).

He stopped teaching Tilda when Thranduil was within eyesight, which was difficult because he was decently sure Mirkwood was within eyesight for the elves. At least usually Thranduil wouldn't come down to bother him if he was that far off.

It might have been tolerable if Thranduil had stopped there. So he wasn't the King of Dale's biggest fan. Hardly a change from his stance on the King of Laketown. They rarely had to work together and could justifiably avoid each other for months at time.

Not according to Thranduil. Without fail the elf king would appear in their settlement once every few weeks for some pressing business with the dwarves and he absolutely refused to stay with them ' _Just because I must work with them does not mean I must suffer their caves.'_

"You live in a cave," Bard had boldly pointed out that time, and regretted it instantly. If Thranduil had possessed the ability to murder people with his eyes alone, Bard would have been little more than a smoldering scorch mark on the cobblestones. ' _If that is how you see my palace then you clearly require a lesson on the splendors of the elven lands_.' said down his nose, and Bard had then realized, rather belatedly, that Thranduil was possibly picking on him.

It seemed a petty thing for an elf king to bother with, really. Anything that lived to see the deaths of several millennia might have better things to do than harass little short-lived creatures such as himself. Bard puzzled over this for quite some time, and possibly missed several other attempts by Thranduil to do whatever it was he was doing. The elves he brought with him seemed fully aware of it, which just confused Bard more. Oh, they were stoically respectful when Thranduil was present, but Bard swore he saw them whispering and giggling to each other in the dining hall, stealing little glances at him all the while.

Being King of Dale was unfair, he decided. There were a thousand better candidates. There had to be. He was obviously no good at the politics that went into it, after all.

Things came to a head one evening in mid-spring, when the flowering trees on the hills had just started to bloom and capture the lake-born children's wonder. Bard was just glad to be done with the long winter and all the hardships that had come with it. He'd just finished a meeting with the volunteers for farming about their progress tilling the soil and planting what seeds they'd saved or traded for, and Thranduil was again inexplicably present in Dale on official Erebor business. At least this time he'd been surprisingly neutral to Bard's existence, only sitting in and adding terribly useful insight into the fertility of the hillsides.

But though Bard still had very little time to sleep at night, he was restless. After so long having to perpetually race to solve the dire problems of their settlement, he couldn't relax without at least one walk through the darkened streets of the town. And that was how he came across the elven king bathing in starlight in the town square.

Bard allowed himself a moment to marvel at the glow about him, the majesty his form commanded. He looked ethereal, like a being from another world gracing this one with his presence. Then he turned, and his expression said that was exactly what he was doing, thank you very much and don't bother trying to exist too close to him.

"King Bard," he greeted. Bard stayed exactly where he was, just out of the undefined shadows of the houses that bordered the path to the square. "It's rather late, don't you think?"

Bard debated his answer. "I couldn't sleep," seemed safest.

Thranduil 'hmmed' and turned to glide closer. "You seldom sleep more than a few hours. I see you up with the dawn and still until the stars have wheeled overhead almost entirely. Does something trouble you?"

Bard shook his head as Thranduil approached, unconsciously taking a few steps back. "Nothing more than troubles any other lord of men, I'm sure," he said faintly as his back hit the plaster wall of the cobbler's establishment. Thranduil moved forward undeterred until he crowded into Bard's space, one slender hand coming to rest beside his head. "A noble answer, though blunted by your mortality. You ought to take better care of yourself, lest you hasten your death," Thranduil spoke the words carefully, with a dull neutrality that might have unnerved Bard had he not been sure Thranduil had better things to do than plot the deaths of mortal men.

Nonetheless, Bard was tense as he looked up at the elf lord in the faint light the stars provided. "I do not know what it is I have done to offend you," he started "but I assure you I meant no harm, and apologize for it."

There was an expression Bard wasn't treated to often: Thranduil looked almost puzzled, which for him meant he was reaching the point of thinking Bard to be speaking in tongues. Bard pressed on regardless. "I hope you understand, my lord Thranduil, that I am not well-versed in the politics that come with my position. Though I see that it's caused problems already, at least if you dislike me so you have no duty to have dealings with me. I have no love of propriety and can have others sent to liaison with you if it would please you more." Bard moved out from Thranduil's space in as dignified a way as he could manage. "We are grateful for all the assistance you have and continue to provide. Now, if you'll excu-"

"Dislike you," Thranduil repeated, as if he'd just caught up to that part of Bard's spontaneous speech, and Bard might have said something in response had he not been grabbed and shoved back where he had been by the will of elven strength. "That you men are still so dense after so many years upon this earth never ceases to amaze me. _Where_ , pray tell, did you obtain this notion?"

Bard frowned up at Thranduil's dour expression, not bothering just yet to shake off the hand still on his shoulder. He gestured rather helplessly. "You," he tried. And failed. Thranduil raised one eyebrow expectantly. "You insulted my bow," he said, and winced internally at the childishness in the statement "And spend an inordinate amount of time insulting _me_. And you-"

"Your bow is _inferior,_ " Thranduil stated, like that somehow was the most goddamn simple concept and not insulting in the slightest. "And I have never insulted you."

"We're only men, Thranduil. We have only so much time to hone our skills. And what of your comments just now about my mortality?"

Thranduil narrowed his eyes "You thought," he started. And stopped. And suddenly Bard felt a little better about himself if even Thranduil was struggling to convey his thoughts. Thranduil's eyes flashed as he pulled back and straightened. "Your bow is not nearly enough for a bowman of your skill level. Any creature worthy of such a _complement_ as being near the mastery of the elves should not be subject to such poor craftsmanship."

Thranduil produced a folded bow from beneath his robes and held it out to Bard. The bowman stared down at it, on his turn to be perplexed. Slowly he took it from Thranduil's hands, at once marveling over the feel of it in his hands and trying desperately to identify the moment when he'd lost the plot. "I think," Bard said "that there has been a misunderstanding."

"Quite," Thranduil replied, a touch sharply though Bard hardly trusted his gauge of Thranduil at this point.

"Why did you even have this?" Bard asked as he turned the bow in his hands.

"I had planned to give it to you after the meeting, but you left rather quickly."

Bard couldn't argue that. He'd taken off as fast as his feet would carry him in the hopes of maintaining the sudden peace between them. Thranduil's hand lit upon him again, this time resting on the hinge of his jaw and tilting his head up so he was looking into blue eyes.

"Thranduil, what-" Bard was silenced by the soft press of lips to his. He stopped. Everything, including breathing. Thranduil pulled back only slightly to speak again. "I did not seek to drive you away, Bard the dragon slayer."

"You," Bard tried, and he had to wonder what had happened to his at least rudimentary command of the common speech. Thranduil hadn't been looking down on his understanding of cultures, he'd been passive-aggressively inviting him to Mirkwood. Thranduil wasn't gloating over his mortality, he was worrying over his health. Thranduil had just _kissed him_. The elf king looked (and for once Bard was sure he understood his expression) supremely uncomfortable. "You're terrible at this," he laughed, helplessly and much to Thranduil's dismay, and swooped up to capture Thranduil's lips with his own once more.


End file.
